


Knight of the Lion

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: The Lady Herald and Her Lion [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Canon Divergence, Dancing Lessons, Developing Relationship, Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Halamshiral, How Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Should Have Happened, Long, Orlesian Balls, Slow Dancing, Winter Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 04:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Inquisitor Trevelyan and her Inner Circle formulate a plan to infiltrate the masquerade ball at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral in order to prevent the assassination of Empress Celene by agents of the Elder One. Unfortunately for Commander Cullen, this means he will have to learn how to ballroom dance with the Inquisitor.In three weeks.





	Knight of the Lion

**Author's Note:**

> This story involves special guest character Raithon Lavellan, who is the OC of a friend of mine (TheFreemasonGamer on DeviantArt). Raithon was instrumental in pulling off this alternate version of the events at Halamshiral and will continue to appear in Verana's version of the world as a non-Inquisitor Lavellan.

Verana leaned heavily on the war table, staring down at the castle piece that marked the location of the Winter Palace at Halamshiral. The Grand Duchess Florianne’s masquerade was only three weeks away, and they had precious little time to prepare for it, in more ways than one. For one thing, none of them had anything appropriate to wear to such an occasion – and, as Josephine and Vivienne _constantly_ reminded Verana, it was _essential_ that the Inquisition’s appearance live up to expectations. For another, they had no way to anticipate what kind of attack was being planned on the Empress, only that there was _going_ to be one, judging from the evidence they had recovered at Therinfal Redoubt. Once at the palace, they’d have to gather clues and gather them quickly…and do it without raising any suspicions. This in the midst of conducting peace talks between the Empress, her cousin Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, and the elven “ambassador,” Briala.

“Josephine, you said you could handle invitations?” Verana’s blue-violet eyes finally looked up from the worn map and fixed on the diplomat’s face, which was brightly illuminated by the blinding light of the morning sunrays streaming through the high windows of Skyhold’s war room.

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine replied with a reassuring smile, “There will be no issue with our presence.”

Glancing to Cullen, Verana raised one dark brow, “And our forces?”

The commander inclined his head, armor glittering in the sun as he moved, “Once we have the invitations in place, there will be no problems getting our soldiers in with the rest of our entourage.” He paused and then added with an acknowledging glance in Leliana’s direction, “Provided we act discreetly, of course.”

Turning to the Nightingale, Verana sighed, “So, all that remains is to find a way to retrieve our information without causing a stir.”

Josephine put one hand on her hip, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, “The original plan was to have us all mix and mingle with the guests. Listening to gossip, gathering secrets, and getting a feel for the mood of the attendees in order to piece the puzzle together, but…”

“That seems like a hit-and-miss approach,” Cullen remarked skeptically as he rested his hand on his sword hilt.

“If you have something better…?” Leliana quipped, looking pointedly at the commander, her hands pulled behind her back.

“Asking too many questions may raise suspicions,” Verana pushed off from the table and crossed her arms, “And people are bound to notice if we wander around too much. It will be difficult to avoid it looking like we’re following the guests around and eavesdropping…and that will get the Chevaliers watching _us_ instead of the real threat.”

Leliana sighed, “You’re right.” She then gestured to them all with a gloved hand, “We’re too high-profile. We will be observed, and carefully. But perhaps my lesser-known agents won’t.”

Josephine frowned, casting a concerned look the spymaster’s way, “I do not doubt the proficiency of your agents, Leliana. But do we entrust such a critical mission to them?”

The Nightingale crossed her arms, “I have an agent in particular in mind for this task…Raithon Lavellan. He would be well suited to such information gathering. He is not well-known enough to garner much attention, and because he is an elf, most of the guests would pay him no heed.”

“Oh…yes, he would be an excellent choice,” Josephine suddenly looked very thoughtful as she replied quietly, her fingers to her lips.

Cullen clasped his hands atop the pommel of his sword, glancing between the women, “so, what do _we_ do, then, if not conducting the investigation ourselves?”

Verana chuckled, shifting from one foot to the other and back again, “Dance and look pretty?”

There was a long and silent pause before Josephine gasped and put her hand over her mouth, glancing back and forth between Verana and Cullen with mischief glittering in her hazel eyes. On the opposite side of the war table, Leliana stared curiously at the ambassador, her brow furrowed. Then, after a breath, realization dawned across the spymaster’s face, “Oh, my…are you thinking what _I’m_ thinking?”

Verana and Cullen exchanged looks, and the former grinned at the latter roguishly, understanding that Josephine and Leliana were now taking her initially playful words quite literally.

“It’s _perfect!_ ” Josephine exclaimed, scribbling frantically on a spare bit of parchment, “The Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition, stealing the night with skill and grace!”

“Whilst my agents steal into the shadows and uncover the plot against Celene,” Leliana’s eyes sparkled with a life Verana had not seen before. Of a sudden, the spymaster seemed much more enthusiastic than she had been since the disaster at Haven.

Cullen’s expression, however, was a mixture of annoyance and horror, “Wait, _what?_ It…it makes no sense! I-I don’t even-”

“Easily remedied!” Josephine smiled coyly, “I will coach you, of course. I already have something in mind, a popular dance amongst the youth in Antiva, perhaps…full of energy and drama! Yes, yes…a waltz, but altered to suit modern tastes. The court will love it – a demonstration of culture, innovation, and sophistication.”

“I don’t see what will be sophisticated about me tripping over my own feet,” Cullen remarked sourly.

Verana caught his gaze and smiled encouragingly, “I don’t think it will be _that_ bad.”

The commander gave her an answering look of sheer desperation, praying she wasn’t _actually_ going to do this to him, before closing his eyes and running his hand through his hair with a defeated sigh, “Maker, why me?”

Leliana chuckled, more than a little amused at Cullen’s reaction, “Because we _need_ you to do it, that’s why. Think of it like this…you and the Inquisitor in the field, taking heat, whilst Josephine and I work from the shadows. It is not unlike a battleground, yes?”

He shook his head slowly and groaned, “Maker’s breath…” After a few more moments of uncomfortable silence, he added, “Fine. Have it your way. Not like I _really_ have a choice in the matter,” he glared at the three of them, “but if it goes poorly, I’m blaming _you_.”

Josephine patted his armored shoulder in an almost motherly gesture, “It won’t go poorly, I promise you. By the time I’m done, you’ll look like you’ve been dancing all your life.”

“Now,” Verana looked between them with a smile, “All that remains is to figure out what to wear.”

“Also easily remedied,” Josephine grinned, “We’ll arrange a trip to Val Royeaux on the morrow to do some shopping.”

“You might also want to speak to Vivienne,” Leliana added, “I do believe she might be able to arrange a deal with her seamstress.”

“Of course!” Josephine scribbled more notes.

At that, Cullen huffed impatiently, “Well…if you three are _quite_ finished deciding how we’re going to proceed, I think I’ll be heading back to my office to complete _important_ paperwork.”

“Oh!” Josephine tapped his silver vambrace with her quill tip as he brushed past her, “Plan to set aside a good three hours every afternoon for the next few weeks…we’ll need it to properly teach you and the Inquisitor in time for the Grand Masquerade.”

Verana thought that the intensity of Cullen’s answering glare would set Josephine’s hair on fire, and he said nothing at all as he continued on through the doors of the war room, not once looking back at the three women on his way out.

After he had disappeared down the corridor and rounded the corner, Leliana chuckled again and murmured knowingly behind her hand, “I do believe someone’s a bit _flustered_.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

“…it was a color somewhere between grey and green, and it was atrocious. Naturally, she was laughed out of the party, the poor dear, and her bawling her eyes out all the while. Her makeup ran down her face in absolute _rivers_ , making these awful, long black trails down her cheeks, as you can imagine. And that just made them laugh harder at her.”

Verana gave Leliana a look of shock, unable to imagine the mortification the woman must have experienced, “That’s terrible!”

Vivienne smiled wryly, remarking, “ _That_ , darling, is Orlais.”

As they strolled across the plaza towards Vivienne’s seamstress’s shop to begin work selecting the uniforms for the men of the Inquisition, the Inquisitor herself was more than happy that she had not selected a color somewhere between grey and green for her own ballgown; they had just finished settling the outfit designs for the women who were to be in attendance at the Winter Palace. Cassandra, Harding, and Sera had all gone to the café for a drink while the others continued their shopping.

“Josephine, dear, why don’t you go ahead come with me so we can set up payment arrangements?” Vivienne asked the ambassador once they reached the shop door, “Then we can spend all the time in the world selecting colors and materials.”

“Of course,” Josephine acquiesced, “Better to get business out of the way first, yes?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Verana shook her head as the two then disappeared inside the shop, while she and Leliana remained outside, enjoying the cool breeze and the warm sun on their faces as they watched the resident nobles meander around the plaza.

“This is going to be interesting,” the Inquisitor said at length, casting her spymaster a sideways glance, “It will be difficult to come up with something that will be satisfactory for everyone.”

Leliana snorted, “Certain ones of them more than others.”

Verana cocked her head curiously at the Nightingale, “Who are you thinking about?”

The redhead chuckled, “The Commander in particular. Typical Fereldan, of course…hates anything and everything Orlesian.”

Verana laughed, “I’m certain that between the outfit and the event itself, he will be nothing short of miserable. Did you see that look he gave Josephine back at Skyhold?”

Leliana grinned, “I did.” Pausing, she lowered her voice and added, “But I think he might enjoy the idea more than he’s letting on.”

The Inquisitor’s brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”

Her spymaster smiled enigmatically, “He would have protested a lot more than he did if he truly did not want to participate in our plan. If I may be honest, I think that he may be a bit sweet on you, Inquisitor. He watches you quite a lot…more than he would admit to if asked directly, I’m certain.”

Verana felt her cheeks reddening, “You…you’re joking, right? I mean you’re not suggesting…”

Leliana’s smile widened, “Just speculation, of course. But I do tend to be right about these sorts of things.” She winked, adding, “In any case, something to think about, no?”

The spymaster then turned and entered the shop, and Verana was left staring after her, slightly open-mouthed. Could it be true? Could he care for her…a mage? No, that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. No mage could garner the affection of a Templar, even a former one. He was merely concerned for her well-being, as she was both the Inquisitor and the only one they knew of who could close the innumerable Fade rifts that dotted southern Thedas. It was only natural.

Yet Leliana’s suggestion was like an arrow of hope to her heart, and she could not ignore its implications.

He was a true man of honor, from what she had seen, and she had seen quite a bit. They had returned to Skyhold from the siege of Adamant not even a week ago, and it was during this time that she had witnessed him in his element. He was a capable, confident commander and a fearless warrior, his courage and battle-prowess truly remarkable. Not only that, but he was also an inspiration to his men, his honest care for their well-being fostering their immense respect for him. He was considerate and kind, even gentle at times, and she thought she noticed a certain bashfulness that was rather endearing…

She swallowed. She respected him as an advisor, yes; his martial experience and strategic skills were invaluable, especially to one who had little knowledge of either. She had grown to consider him a comrade-in-arms, and even a friend.

But did she dare hope…?

She shook her head as she wordlessly followed Leliana into the shop.

No. No. She was the Inquisitor, he their commander…and that was it. There was no more to contemplate.

 But, unfortunately, Verana would indeed contemplate this often in the near future. It would invade her thoughts many a time, and the Inquisitor could not shake the feeling that the Nightingale had planted the seed in her mind on purpose…

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Darling, if you’re aiming for luxury, you must go _all_ the way…there’s no sense in scrimping anywhere. Especially not for an event like this.”

Vivienne’s remark came an hour later as they debated on materials, having finally selected a style of outfit that suited them. Verana passed a hand tentatively over a bolt of ebon velvet, unsure of whether or not to commit. The Inquisitor was wracking her brain, trying to visualize what materials would flatter all men of their inner circle, just as she had with the uniform style; she wanted them all to appear their very best for this occasion. But some small part of her kept nagging her to pick something she wanted to see _Cullen_ in, damning what the rest looked like in the same…

Leliana’s earlier words yet tainted her thoughts, it seemed, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t push them out of her mind. Visions of her commander in a sharp uniform of sleek, form-fitting black rose unbidden to the forefront of her imagination, and she fought to keep her cheeks from turning scarlet as she forcefully banished such thoughts and returned her attention to the others in the room with her.

Josephine propped her head on her hand, resting her elbow on the arm of her chair. “Don’t worry about the cost, Inquisitor,” the ambassador reassured her, “We’ve already arranged everything, and our coffers can take any expense; we’re accumulating far more wealth than we’re spending right now…at this rate, we won’t even feel it, even if you choose the most costly materials available.”

Sighing, Verana closed her eyes, and then nodded, “Right. Let’s go with velvet for the jackets, silk for the sashes and shirts, and nugskin for the boots and gloves. Warm, but hopefully comfortable. And suitably lavish for the occasion, I do believe.”

Vivienne made a few notes upon a scrap of parchment, her quill scratching as she wrote, “Excellent choices, my dear. What colors for each?”

Josephine looked contemplative, her eyes looking distant as she spoke, “I had initially thought of a nice crimson for the jackets. It is bold, royal-”

“Oh, Maker, _no_ ,” a look of sheer revulsion traversed Verana’s face at the ambassador’s suggestion, “Bull will look like a giant stalk of red lyrium.”

Josephine paused, thought a moment, and then frowned, “Yes, come to think of it…he will.”

“Something more subtle, then,” Leliana suggested, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall next to Josie, “a darker color…”

They debated for the next half hour over the color choices, but eventually seemed to agree on something acceptable…something the Inquisitor hoped the men of her entourage – and the members of the Orlesian court – would like as much as the ladies themselves did. Verana confirmed the selections with Vivienne, who double-checked her notes, and then finalized the order with her seamstress, who awaited their ultimate decision in her back room.

Once everything was in place and scheduled for delivery, they had one final stop to make…

“Josephine?” Verana asked as they departed the seamstress’s shop, the sun now descending in the sky overhead, causing the gold-roofed towers of Val Royeaux to shine like fiery beacons, “You said that it would be a good idea for us to obtain masks for the ball… why is that, exactly? We aren’t Orlesian.”

The ambassador inclined her head as she walked beside the Inquisitor, “It shows a willingness on the part of the Inquisition to conform to local customs, and demonstrates our solidarity with the Empire. The wearing of masks is a deeply-rooted Orlesian tradition, as you well know…even symbolic of Orlais as a whole.”

“Of course, we cannot wear masks such as those the noble families of Orlais possess,” Vivienne clarified, “as that is a crime that can be punished by death in the Empire. It is not something that would be tried on people of our standing, of course, but you understand the severity of the offense now, yes?”

“Indeed,” Josephine agreed solemnly, “And this is why we must purchase our masks from a shop that caters to honored guests and creates designs that are distinctly non-offensive to the native families of Orlais.”

“ _Ugh_.”

Cassandra’s disgusted noise suddenly came from behind them as the Seeker caught up, Sera and Harding trailing behind her, obviously intoxicated. Whether Cassandra was repulsed with the prospect of mask shopping or having to babysit two tipsy comrades was unclear.

Verana raised a dark brow and exchanged looks with Cassandra, an amused smile spreading across her face as she did so.

This was going to get interesting, to say the least…

\-------------------------------------------------------

When the women of the Inquisition returned from their shopping trip to Val Royeaux, Cullen wondered what exactly they had gotten themselves into – and what sort of Orlesian scheming to which he would inevitably be victim. Most of the ladies chattered amongst themselves like magpies all the way to the keep – though he did notice the Inquisitor stealing a glance in his direction, a gesture that left his cheeks feeling rather warm…

As he watched the procession of women and their guards climb the stairs into the keep proper, Varric elbowed him and grinned, “You thinking what I’m thinking, Curly?”

“Judging from the sinking feeling in my gut,” Cullen replied, leaning against the partition wall of the courtyard, “I’m thinking we’re all going to be nothing short of miserable for the next three weeks.”

“Speak for yourself,” Varric teased, “You’re the only one who’s going to have to endure Ruffles’s training every evening.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cullen glared.

The dwarf chuckled, “Relax, Curly. You’re probably a natural and don’t even know it.”

Clearly irritated by Varric’s mere presence, the commander sighed heavily, “Have you no one else to bother?”

“Actually,” Varric smiled widely, “I _just_ remembered I have something to discuss with Ruffles. While I’m at it, I’ll let her know you’re eagerly awaiting your first lesson.”

As Varric then turned away and sauntered towards the keep, a smug grin on his face, Cullen stared daggers through the dwarf’s back.

Maker, this was going to be a long month.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“This looks _perfect_!”

Josephine had led Cullen and Verana to the open antechamber that led to the library, vault, and kitchens. It was the only relatively empty place in the keep with a sizeable amount of floor space and little foot traffic, where they could practice without running the risk of being interrupted. Most of the workers were already at dinner or in their own chambers, and the night guards’ shifts would not begin for another three hours. As such, they would be able to rehearse for quite a while without any gawkers, perhaps to their mutual relief.

Both Verana and Cullen stopped about halfway into the room, exchanging looks of trepidation, but Josephine turned to them with a beaming expression, her excitement obvious, “Now…the basics! Stand directly in front of one another about three paces apart.”

Verana took one step back and sighed, adjusting her position and tucking a lock of raven hair behind one ear. Cullen, meanwhile, was doing his best not to make eye contact, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck and saying nothing.

“Good!” the ambassador stepped forward, “Now, it is customary for the man to bow first, and then the woman to answer with a curtsy.” Her satiny sleeves shimmered in the torchlight as she gestured expectantly at Cullen. The commander raised a brow, then turned to Verana and gave a hesitant bow.

Before he had gotten even halfway down, however, Josephine stopped him.

“No, no! That’s much too fast!  Here…one hand in front, the other behind, like so,” she took his hands and placed them herself, his right atop his abdomen and his left in the small of his back. “And down _slowly_. Maintain eye contact with your partner, Commander. It is an invitation, not deference.”

His irritation was obvious as his amber eyes flicked in the ambassador’s direction, but he obeyed, slowly bowing from the waist and then raising back up.

_Andraste help me._

“Excellent!” Josephine beamed and turned to Verana, “And now you, Lady Trevelyan.”

The Inquisitor gave Cullen an encouraging smile and mimicked the slow bow with an equally slow curtsy – or, at least the best curtsy she could give in leather breeches.

“A feat that would be easier in a skirt, no doubt,” Josephine remarked, sensing the discomfort emanating from Verana as the latter slowly straightened.

“Now take each other’s right hands, uplifted still, and slowly step in a clockwise motion, in time with each other, until you are standing opposite of where you were before. Watch each other carefully and match this beat,” the ambassador clapped slowly and clearly to demarcate the timing.

It was nothing short of a disaster. First, they failed to meet each other other’s hands at the right level, resulting in a brief struggle to find the correct height, then both immediately fixed their gazes downwards at the floor as they turned themselves about to their opposite positions. No doubt Josephine’s patience was being tried, but the tactful diplomat did not show it, even as they gave her sheepish looks that bespoke both their inexperience and their frustrations.

“Well, that was…” Josephine trailed, dropping her hands.

“ _Terrible_.”

Cullen and Verana had both spoken at the same time, resulting in an awkward meeting of stares and then fleeting glances between all three present.

“Try again,” Josie stepped forward, “and do it more like this…”

No less than half an hour later, the two had finally managed to master the preliminary movements of the dance Josephine had in mind, bowing and curtsying with slow grace, each of them stepping at precisely the same time, hand in hand, circling to each other’s exact opposite position.

“Wonderful!” Josephine clapped, obviously pleased with the progress, although Cullen looked doubtful. But when he saw Verana’s evidently satisfied expression, some of those doubts faded, and he gave her a sheepish smile in return.

Upon seeing that smile, Verana thought her insides were melting, and she wondered what Leliana would say if she were witness to all this…

The sensation didn’t last long, however, because Josephine moved up to them again, “Now, finally, to your _actual_ dancing position. Cullen, pull her towards you and take her waist with your right hand, grasping her right with your left. Inquisitor, put your left arm about the Commander’s right shoulder.”

Both Verana and Cullen found themselves clearing their throats at the same time, tentatively doing as Josephine asked by easing into her instructed position. The ambassador herself was quick to make adjustments, examining the pair from all angles with a critical eye. “A little too close,” she said, putting her hands between their torsos and pushing them apart a by an inch or two. “And that’s her shoulder blades, not her waist,” she pushed his right hand farther down Verana’s back. Then, adjusting Verana’s right hand around Cullen’s spaulder, Josephine added with a pointed look, “This would be _a lot_ easier without your armor Commander.” Finally, she took their clasped hands and lifted them higher, above shoulder level. Once satisfied, the ambassador took a step back and put her own hands on her hips, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face from where it had come loose from her bun, “There! That’s it.”

Verana laughed a little, trying her best to ignore her hypersensitivity to Cullen’s hand on her back, “Baby steps, right, Commander?”

Cullen himself had tensed considerably – evidenced not only in the way his hands felt, but the visible tightening in his neck muscles – and he answered with a certain terseness in his tone, “If you say so, Inquisitor.”

As they took a moment to memorize this position, Verana found herself far too fixated on the sensation of their gloved hands grasped together firmly but gently, the palpable closeness of their bodies, the strength that radiated from Cullen like the warmth of a hearth’s flame. She was instantly reminded of that terrible night not so long ago, when she had trudged through thigh-deep snow in a blizzard and, on the brink of death, had collapsed into his waiting arms…

“…for now.”

Verana was snapped back into the present by Josephine’s voice, but she had only caught the last words of the ambassador’s statement. Furrowing her brow, she focused he eyes on a hook on the commander’s breastplate and pretended to need clarification, asking, “I’m sorry, say again, Josephine?”

“You should get used to moving together before we go much farther,” Josie replied with a grin, “Just take steps backwards and forwards for now.” She paused and cocked her head, “I’ll let you work it out on your own.”

Panic seemed to arrest both of them.

“Er…”

“Ah…”

“Well…”

But Josephine supplied no more advice. Completely silent, arms crossed atop her chest, the ambassador stepped back to give them room and watched them expectantly. Glancing up at Cullen, Verana took a deep breath, “All right…”

He stepped forward with his right foot, gently pushing her, and she stepped back with her left, following with her other as he did with his own. She then answered with her own right foot forward, and he stepped back in turn. It took a few tries to work out the abruptness of their steps, but at last it began to smoothen out.

“ _One-two-three, one-two-three_ ,” Verana murmured softly.

They gradually eased into the rhythm, and Josephine finally offered encouragement, “Easy and slowly…smooth and measured…that’s it…”

Forward and back. Forward and back.

The Inquisitor smiled up at Cullen, “See, it’s not so bad. We’re getting there.”

For the first time since they started practicing that day, she felt him begin to relax, and his reply came out with a sigh of resignation, “So we are.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Andraste’s mercy!”

Cullen shrugged out of his coat, throwing it onto a side bench with one hand as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the other. He had already shed himself of half his armor for easier mobility; now he removed the fur-collared coat out of both heat and frustration. After four days of practice, they had finally reached a set of moves that would take a while to conquer, and the complexity was giving both him and Verana a difficult time. She used a leather band to pull her wavy raven tresses out of her face and into a ponytail, and she watched with concern in her eyes as Cullen paced around, wincing and holding his head; something other than the dancing lessons was giving him a headache, and he grunted with pain for the fifth time that evening.

Josephine, sensing the mounting tension in the room, gave a small smile to cover her anxiousness and moved towards the door that led to the kitchen, “Perhaps I should get some refreshments…just a moment.”

Once she had vanished with near-silent footsteps, Verana glanced to Cullen, “Are you…all right? Should we tell Josephine to stop early, tonight?”

Amber eyes met violet with an unexpected fire, “No. We’ve gotten this far, we can’t stop now. To stop early would be to…to…”

“Admit defeat?” Verana supplied, a slight grin crossing her face, to which he was quiet for a few long moments.

“Suffice it to say,” Cullen’s expression was fierce, “I don’t easily surrender.”

Her grin melted away as she raised a dark brow at him, putting her hands on her hips, “Well, neither do I.”

“Then we keep going.”

He gestured to her with open arms as if to suggest that they begin practice again. Glancing to the door, Verana noticed Josephine had yet to return. But, perhaps if she walked in on them dancing on their own, the ambassador would feel proud that they were voluntarily continuing to rehearse without her supervision. Sighing, the Inquisitor moved into position, taking his shoulder and hand for what seemed like the thousandth time.

_One-two-three; one-two-three… turn, spin, walk with hands clasped…shoulder to shoulder, shoulder to shoulder, step, turn, turn, spin-_

_“Hmph!”_ Verana suddenly winced and groaned, unable to keep a sound from escaping her lips as Cullen stepped on her left toe for the third time in an hour. She had barely managed to hide a reaction on the first two occurrences, but its present tenderness left her unable to disguise it with a smile this time.

“Oh, Inquisitor!” The Commander immediately released his hold on her hands and grasped her gently by the shoulders, his expression one of sincere concern as she dipped her head and grimaced. “Maker’s breath, I’m so sorry,” he apologized in a tone that was a stark contrast to the brusqueness he had employed only minutes before.

“It’s…it’s all right, Cullen,” she sighed and smoothed her sweaty bangs back from her forehead.

“I’ve done that more than once, haven’t I?”

Unable to lie, she gave him a weak smile, “Three times, now.”

Hissing his frustration, he ran his hands through his own dampened, golden locks and looked away, “Flames of Andraste…I swear I’m _trying_ …”

“I know you are, Commander. You’re doing well.”

He spun around angrily, striding away from her, “No, I’m not! If I were doing well-”

“Accidents happen-”

“If I just knew-”

“ _Cullen!”_ Verana snapped, striding forward despite the soreness of her foot and grasping _him_ by the shoulders this time, “I’ve been dancing with you now for days and I know what you need to do more than anyone. It’s quite simple…you need to _lead_. You’re the lead. So _lead_! You’re a commander, it should be easy!”

There was nothing but silence as her hard stare met the same from him. It was a look that made her heart jump in her throat and nearly froze her to the spot. She had expected such a response, but it did not make his answering glare any less intimidating.

“If it were so easy,” he growled at last, “I wouldn’t be pulverizing your foot and forgetting steps with every session.”

“And _both_ are happening because you’re not thinking about it right,” Verana replied firmly, turning and striding away as she tried to shake off the sensation of his eyes burning into hers. She was only just now able to form the proper analogy that might help him through this, “It’s not that different from sparring, correct? There’s a beat…a rhythm to follow. A move that answers a move. _I_ answer _you_ , not the other way around. You take the initiative, I respond. Be the commander and command! Stop deferring to me and be the leader you are!”

At that moment, Josephine walked back into the room, full goblets perched atop a silver tray. Upon seeing Verana and Cullen staring so intently at each other from opposite sides of the chamber, eyes blazing electricity and fire respectively, she wondered whether or not she should say anything at all lest she end up caught in what appeared to be an imminent firestorm. Instead, she tentatively cleared her throat and gave a small grin once they simultaneously turned their heads in her direction.

Inquisitor and Commander both strode forth, seized their glasses, and wordlessly gulped the contents within – a strong and sweet claret wine – as if they were dying of thirst. Then, glancing one to the other, they gave each other abrupt affirmative nods.

“Again?” Cullen asked, determination writ on his countenance.

“Again,” Verana confirmed.

And Josephine was left standing there – mouth slightly open, tray still in hand – and completely speechless as the Inquisitor and Commander launched into their practice with the most enthusiasm she’d seen since they had started days ago.

Verana’s eyes were fixed on Cullen’s as they restarted their routine, the intensity in his amber gaze pulling at her like a moth to dancing flame. Indeed, she did feel as if she were dancing with fire – a power that, when controlled, was warm and comforting, giving light and life and so many other things…but when unchecked could be an all-consuming force. She briefly wondered what her old friends in the Circle would have thought if they knew what she was doing. Most of them would have shied at the prospect of even getting within arm’s reach of a Templar – even a former one. Here she was waltzing with one, and she had to admit that, even after knowing Cullen for months, there was a slight feeling in the back of her mind that she was doing something risky…dangerous, even; spending much of her life in a Circle, she couldn’t help but feel that way to some extent, even though she did not fear or revile the Templars as much as most mages did. It was a strange and yet delightful sensation to experience, and part of her did not want it to end…

All the while, Josephine observed their practice with a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…”

As the ambassador counted out the time, she was fighting to keep a grin from spreading across her face so hard that her cheeks cramped.

She had no idea what the two had said to each other days ago, but whatever it was had resolved any remaining clumsiness between them. They had improved in leaps and bounds, and they now swirled across the floor in perfect rhythm, both measured strength and skillful grace in their steps. Josephine’s heart nearly burst with pride as she watched them, her promise to Cullen having come true right before her eyes.

The Inquisitor and Commander seemed to be somewhat enjoying themselves now, both even beginning to smile as they practiced. Confidence building with each iteration of their routine, they had started to relax and trust in one another, now that each was certain the other would not misstep. At this, Josephine was glad, as she knew they needed to look poised but comfortable on the dance floor. Rigidity would reveal uncertainty to the court, and that would hurt their overall performance.

“Excellent!” she said at last, when they finally finished the routine up to the point she had taught them, “And now, for a magnificent finish…”

“That’s not it?” Cullen asked, slightly out of breath as he stepped away from Verana and retrieved his waterskin.

The ambassador looked downright appalled, “Maker, _no_! You can’t end the dance like that!”

The Commander responded over his upturned waterskin with an answering look all but said _Why not?_

“So,” Verana gestured to the ambassador, “What do you have in mind?”

At that, Josephine looked positively cheeky, and the Inquisitor and Commander both exchanged concerned glances.

“Something dramatic,” she said, “Sensational. And just a tiny bit risqué. Let’s face it…the Orlesian court devours scandal faster than gourmet hors d’oeuvres. It also admires boldness, so,” she grinned, “bold we shall be.”

“All right,” Cullen sighed, meandering back to Verana’s side knowing he wasn’t going to be able to protest, “How do we do this?”

Josephine crossed her arms, “Ideally, it would be just after that final spin. You’ll have to hold her firmly while she lifts her other leg to wrap around you. You’ll also need to give her some momentum so she can go back as far and as quickly as she can.”

Their eyes widened as they visualized what the ambassador had in mind. Cullen shook his head, “I…think I know what you mean.”

Verana chuckled, “Just don’t crack my skull on the floor. Or drop me.”

“How fast is this supposed to be?” he asked Josephine.

“Very,” she replied. “It should come as a surprise for the audience.”

Verana nodded, “So transition right from the spin to the drop.”

“Right,” Cullen sighed again, “Let’s see if this works.”

They began from the last few steps of the dance. Verana could feel Cullen tense in anticipation of the final move, and when they reached the last spin, she allowed herself to be turned on her heel with her momentum and then pulled backwards as he brought her raised hand down. She planted her foot firmly as she was tilted back, her spine arching backwards; his arm slipped into the small of her back to support her as she lifted her other leg upwards, hooking her calf behind his thigh.

“Good, good!” Josephine encouraged, moving forward to take a better look at them, “A bit farther…just a bit more…”

The ambassador tweaked their position until it was perfect. The tip of Verana’s ponytail was brushing the floor, so far was her head thrown back, and her spine curved dramatically, almost uncomfortably so. Despite the seeming precariousness of her pose, she had her calf locked firmly against the back of Cullen’s thigh, one hand grasping the shoulder of the arm that held her steady behind her back. He leaned over her, one knee slightly bent, his other hand gripping hers tightly. A bold move, indeed, and one that Verana quite liked, despite the self-consciousness tickling the back of her mind…

At last, Josephine clapped with delight, “That’s it! You’ve got it!”

For the next hour, they practiced the fluidity and speed of that final move, memorizing the feel of the ultimate pose they were to take until it was practically imprinted on their brains. At last, when they were too exhausted to continue, Josephine offered them a beaming smile, her eyes sparkling in the torchlight as the pair parted, “Well, I do think you’re ready for the ball, now. You look wonderful together…simply wonderful! I am so proud of you both. You have accomplished so much in so little time.”

Cullen dipped his head to her, “We could not have done it without you, of course. We were most fortunate to have you as our ever-patient instructor.”

“Indeed,” Verana nodded in agreement, “I only hope we can live up to your expectations, Lady Ambassador…and those of the court.”

Josephine’s cheeks tinted pink, “I am most certain that you will, Inquisitor. Oh!” she abruptly lifted a finger as she suddenly remembered something, “I’ve been meaning to tell you: the rest of the shipment of clothing arrived later today. I had it sent to your quarters, so it should be waiting on you there.”

“Thank you, Josephine,” Verana replied with a grin, “I can’t wait to see how it all looks.”

The ambassador smiled, “I think you will be pleased. _I_ most certainly am.” Then, inclining her head to both of them, she added, “But do excuse me…there are a few things I wanted to finish in my office before retiring for the night. We can talk about it more tomorrow.”

Once Josephine vanished beyond the door in a swirl of blue and gold, Verana tapped Cullen’s arm to get his attention and moved over to one of the benches where a small box lay. Grinning back at him, she said, “Most of your uniform should be in your quarters as Josephine said…but I wanted to give you one piece personally, especially since I picked it out just for you.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed, “You…did? What is it?”

“You’ll see,” she replied, mischief sparkling in her amethyst eyes, “and you have to promise me you’ll wear it.”

She extended the box to him, a plain black container without any identifying mark stamped upon it. Curious, he took it in both hands, hesitated for a moment, and then flipped back the lid.

There, lying in a bed of loose red satin, was a shining black Orlesian half-mask, crafted into a stylized lion face. Traces of silver outlined the eyes, muzzle, and the small portions of mane that crowned the forehead, between the great cat’s ears and around its cheeks. As he took it out of the box, slowly setting the container down on the bench with his other hand, Verana could not help but ask, “Do you like it?”

A smile pulled gently at the corner of his mouth, and he cast her a sidelong glance, “I…do.”

In truth, he was rather flattered by the association she had made between the mask and himself, and her good taste in colors and the quality of it affirmed that this was a serious gift and not some sort of joke or means of torturing him for her amusement. As he stood there admiring it in the torchlight, Verana grinned like a fool, pleased that he actually liked it. She was afraid he would outright refuse to accept it, citing the silliness of an Orlesian custom of which he wanted no part, even if Josephine insisted he participate.

Then, to her astonishment, he took it by the strap and put it on, settling it over his face and then turning to her, “Well, how do I look?”

A number of words came to mind. Striking. Dazzling. Magnificent. The way it shadowed his eyes so that only the golden irises glowed from within the darkness, enhancing his already intense gaze, took her breath away. But, to her great regret, none of this was she able to communicate to him, even if she might want to. Instead, she merely murmured softly, “It…suits you, Commander.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

The Grand Masquerade arrived faster than any of them wanted, the next few days evaporating like dewdrops in the morn. Cullen and Verana had practiced as often as they could in those days, but the last had to be reserved for the journey to the Winter Palace itself, and both of them feared losing their edge, even in that short length of time.

As her carriage rattled down the roadway – the last in a line of them surrounded by heavily armed Inquisition horsemen – Verana felt her stomach flutter with nerves. Somehow, she was certain that facing down the Envy demon again would be less intimidating than what she would have to endure this night. She had listened intently to Josephine and Leliana’s instructions regarding the Game, had memorized their warnings and words of advice. She would have to keep her wits about her and stay one step ahead of everyone else. A single slip, and all could be lost.

“ _The Game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards.”_

Even now, Josephine’ words echoed in her mind, and they reminded her that, despite the celebratory nature of the evening, there were dark forces at work behind the masks of the court, and it was up to her Inquisition to reveal them before it was too late…

At last, she could hear the drivers slowing the horses, and her own carriage itself rolled to a stop. The quickly-setting sun cast a bright pink and orange glow around the surrounding countryside…what little of it she could see past snorting steeds and glittering armor. She knew that her advisors and companions would be getting out ahead of her, establishing the presence of the Inquisition before her ceremonious entrance. Sighing in nervous anticipation, she straightened her gloves and mask and adjusted the bodice of her gown, hoping her choice of attire was properly fashionable and would not be perceived as too gaudy for her station. Due to the order in which they had boarded the carriages, her comrades had yet to see her. Likewise, she had yet to see any of them. She had to admit, she was rather eager to witness the results of her careful color choices for their uniforms. And she hoped that she, herself, would not be a disappointment to the countless observers who would be scrutinizing them all evening.

Suddenly, a silver armored and elaborately-masked face peeked into her window, causing her to jump in surprise – one of the Orlesian Chevaliers. He immediately clasped his hand to his breastplate in salute and spoke with a thick accent, “Greetings, Lady Inquisitor. Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons asked me to pass word that he is waiting to escort you inside the Winter Palace. I believe your entourage is already within. If you would allow me?”

It took her a second to realize he was offering to lead her up to the gates. Once she made this revelation, she nodded, “Of course, thank you.”

“It is my honor, Herald of Andraste.”

With that, he opened the carriage door and offered her his gauntleted hand. She took it and carefully stepped out, minding the hem of her dress as she dodged a puddle. Then, taking her arm with his, the Chevalier strode forward, leading her down the cobbled roadway to the gates of the Winter Palace, “Welcome to Halamshiral, Inquisitor.”

She could not help but stare at the scene before her. The Winter Palace was a massive château that sported immaculate blue and white walls, golden roofs, sparkling fountains and azure banners. Glittering parapets with delicate archways towered above them, stark against the now-violet sky, and bright lamps lit their way, illuminating priceless winged statues that guarded the walk. If at all possible, Halamshiral was even more beautiful that what she had seen of Val Royeaux, and that was saying something.

“ _Inquisition!_ ”

The call from one of Cullen’s captains snapped her out of her reverie; a whole line of Inquisition soldiers created a path past the gates that led directly to the Grand Duke, who awaited her in the courtyard, and they all saluted her simultaneously at her approach. The Chevalier escorting her then handed her off silently to the Duke, who took her hand with a deep bow, “Lady Inquisitor Trevelyan. A pleasure and honor to meet you at last.” He then kissed her knuckles, and she immediately wondered how much of his words – and his gesture – was genuine courtesy and how much was obligatory affectation.

“Likewise, Your Grace,” she replied, lamp-lit violet eyes watching him carefully.

The Duke’s face was mostly hidden by a golden mask, but she could see his mouth twisting in a wry smile as he gently let go of her hand, “But allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. It is my honor to have the Herald of Andraste as a guest for these negotiations. I have heard much about your efforts in the Empire…rumor has it you battled an army of demons in the Western Approach.”

This time, it was Verana’s turn to give him a wry smile, “Don’t believe everything you hear, Your Grace.”

He chuckled, “Of course…but the events that did occur in those wastes must have been significant indeed to spark rumors of such a degree. Within every tale is a grain of truth, no?”

She was not even aware of the Inquisition soldiers’ melting into the crowd as she replied, “So they say.”

He offered her his arm, “Imagine what you could accomplish with the support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais.”

She took it, “And which one is that? I keep getting them confused.”

He chuckled again, “The handsome, charming one, of course, my lady.”

As they walked towards the entrance to the palace together, the Grand Duke conveying his concerns about the evening in a hushed voice all the while, she felt about as safe as a rabbit in a den of sleeping wolves…

\-------------------------------------------------------

Cullen already detested this evening. There were far too many people to keep track of them all, and every flash of metal set his nerves on edge. That in combination with dodging inquiring minds of both sexes was keeping him on his toes...and the true party had yet to begin. Resisting the urge to sigh loudly, he tugged at the edges of his gloves for the hundredth time, fidgeting with anxiety. Too many people, too many fluttering lace fans, too many giggles, too much cloying perfume…

And then he saw her. Gaspard led her inside but then departed to briefly attend to his own business, letting her climb the stairs on her own. Cullen knew from his own attire that she must have chosen something suitably stunning for herself, but he wasn’t prepared for exactly how stunning it was…and how beautiful _she_ looked in it.

It was strapless, void-black samite gown, the corset bodice adorned with broad black lace that was embellished by countless sparkling silver and onyx beads along its sweetheart neckline and basque waistline. The A-line skirt consisted of several layers of sheer black chiffon; they gathered at the center of the waist – where a single dark sapphire was nestled in a silver setting – and draped over a midnight-blue silk underskirt, which rippled like moonlit water with every step. Into the underskirt had been sewn innumerable tiny clear crystals that twinkled in the light like stars, concentrated at the waist, but spreading out as the fabric reached her feet. From under the hem, the rounded toes of her black suede heels peeked out as she carefully ascended the palace’s entryway staircase. Her arms were graced with elbow-length silk gloves, the same blue as the underskirt, bands of beaded black lace encircling her wrists and biceps. On her face she wore a black half-mask: silk brocade embroidered with blue-violet thread. At each temple of the mask was a black and silver satin rosette, from which sprang three long black coque feathers each, sweeping backwards over her voluminous raven hair. As his eyes drifted from her plum-red painted lips to the heavy black waves that spilled over her pale bare shoulders, he forced himself to refocus on her own violet gaze with a heavy swallow.

“Inquisitor,” he gave a slight bow.

Meanwhile, as Verana slowly climbed the staircase, concentrating mostly on not falling or stepping on the hem of her skirt and ripping it out, she had not even noticed Cullen watching her. In fact, she had been thinking intensely about all the things of which Gaspard had just informed her and what she wanted to ask her advisors when she found them.

Until she looked up and saw the lion mask staring down at her.

There the commander stood, garbed in the design that the ladies had selected together in Val Royeaux but the colors and materials she had chosen – a black velvet, hip-length, double-breasted jacket with a high collar and decorative epaulets, embroidered with impossibly intricate designs in glittering silver thread and secured with shining silver buttons. The midnight-blue silk sash she had chosen just for him was crossed over his breast from his left shoulder, under the epaulet, and secured at his right hip. Another sash wrapped about his waist was held in place with a black leather belt. The sleeves were tucked into elbow-length black leather gloves, folded down smartly to almost mid-forearm. His black silk breeches were barely visible between the hem of his jacket and his thigh-high black leather boots. The expert tailoring of the coat and the naturally sleek nature of the all-black uniform accentuated his broad-shouldered physique in a truly flattering manner, and Verana realized with no small amount of disappointment just how much his bulky armor hid his shapely form…

That was when the shadowed golden eyes met hers and she froze on the top step. She met the small smile with her own and answered him with a quiet, “Commander.”

Clicking heels approaching at a swift pace shattered the dream in which she had found herself fully immersed.

“Oh, Inquisitor, you look _lovely_!”

Leliana and Josephine appeared at Cullen’s side, and she found herself mirroring their grins. The spymaster’s bustle-skirted ballgown was an iridescent blue-black, complete with a matching mask that was crafted in the shape of a raven’s wings, and Verana thought that the ensemble suited the graceful woman rather well. Beside the Nightingale, the ambassador’s crimson brocade dress, punctuated with black lace and puff sleeves, swished softly as the Antivan walked.

“So do you,” Verana replied, glancing around and noticing her other companions milling about the entryway, “All of you.”

“Everyone is ready,” Leliana said quietly, glancing to Cullen, who nodded in understanding, “Scout Raithon has already begun his investigation.”

“Now all that remains is to wait,” Josephine added, anxiously adjusting the scarlet rosette in her upswept, braided hair.

“In the meantime,” Cullen looked over his shoulder, “We’ll have to be formally introduced to the court and the Empress.”

Josephine nodded, the single black peacock feather that adorned her red mask bobbing over her head, “As soon as Gaspard is ready, we’ll have to be presented to the Empress as guests of the Grand Duke.”

“There he is now,” Cullen inclined his head in the Duke’s direction. He was already heading towards the ballroom doors with his guards. When he glimpsed Verana, he gave her a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“I’ll round up the others,” Leliana said, gliding across the floor to get Verana’s companions ready for their entrance.

Before long, Gaspard was ready, and he led the way into the ballroom, the herald preparing to introduce them all as the court looked on. One by one they were announced, each answering their name with a bow or curtsy. Then, as one unit, they marched forth together to approach the Empress and be acknowledged by Her Imperial Majesty.

All the while, Verana knew that behind the scenes, Raithon and others of Leliana’s agents were sifting through the Orlesian court’s dirtiest secrets in their search for clues…

And the party was just getting started.

\-------------------------------------------------------

“ _Ugh_.”

Verana could not help but grin at Cassandra’s disgusted noise as she quietly approached her. The Seeker had managed to find a relatively quiet spot in the vestibule, away from the main throng of court members in the ballroom. The Inquisitor briefly wondered how Cassandra had managed to secure this secluded space, but then she thought that she might have very well created it herself with her obviously irritated – and even hostile – demeanor.

Cassandra took quite the un-lady-like drink from the glass in her hand and frowned, “Now I remember why I let Leliana handle such affairs.” Glancing down at her dress, she added, “I wish I hadn’t let Josephine talk me into this. I look atrocious, don’t I?”

The Seeker wore a relatively plain silver gown, high-collared and long-sleeved. The single layer of silk spilled to the floor like liquid moonlight, hiding the toes of Cassandra’s black suede boots beneath. It was belted at the waist with a plain black leather band, the silverite buckle of which was fashioned into the shape of the Seekers’ emblem. Across her breast from her left shoulder to her right hip was a wine-red sash, pinned with a silver Inquisition brooch. Upon her face was an elegant silver half-mask, embossed and engraved with swirling designs around the edges.

Verana smiled, “I think you look quite regal.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned, but a blush rose in her cheeks, “You are too kind, Inquisitor.” Sighing, the Seeker added, “I hope you find this evening more enjoyable than I. I will stay here until the dance, and I will pass word along if I see or hear anything of concern.”

Verana nodded, “Thank you, Cassandra. Be careful and stay alert.”

“Always.”

As the Inquisitor then meandered around the vestibule, politely greeting nobles who addressed her and admiring the elegant architecture of the palace, she felt a familiar presence at her side; glancing in that direction, she found Cole at her elbow. He was an odd sight without his customary hat, garbed in the dress uniform that the other men wore and sporting a black mask in the shape of a stylized rabbit face, complete with ears.

“So many voices,” he murmured, “So many cries that cannot be heard. They’re drowning in the roar. Hurting and hopeless, they need healing. But I’m not sure I can help them all. It gives me a headache.”

Frowning, Verana tried to think of a way for him to get away from the crowd of nobles and concentrating on something else. After a moment, she replied quietly, “Can you reach the scouts? Aid them in their search? Maybe that would be better for you. And it would help us all.”

Cole cocked his head, “Yes. I think so. I will help them and come back to you if I find anything important.”

She blinked, and he was gone. Shaking her head, she looked around and noticed that the nobles chatting in groups around her seemed totally oblivious to this incident.

Lucky for all of them.

That was when she noticed Varric near the entry stairwell, gazing up at the column beside him, which was adorned with a solid gold carving of a winged female. He had lifted the plain silver half-mask on his face to get a better look, but then replaced it when he noticed Verana nearing. Whistling, he shook his head and jerked his thumb at the column, “Look at that. There’s enough gold in this place to rebuild Kirkwall three times over.”

“And this is just one palace of many,” the Inquisitor remarked.

The dwarf chuckled, “Yeah. And I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of, or just plain sad.”

She leaned close, murmuring quietly, “Perhaps a bit of both?”

“Heh,” Varric grinned, “maybe. Makes me wonder what they would do with all of it if they couldn’t use it in their buildings.”

Verana smirked, glancing to one of the many tables laden with fancy pastries and drinks, “Judging from their petit-fours…eat it.”

Varric shook his head again, “Speaking of eating, I’m going to try to find something more substantial than tiny cakes…and hope none of it is poisoned. I’ll keep an ear out for trouble.”

She nodded, “Right. Stay wary.”

With that, she turned and continued searching for her comrades, making sure not to walk too quickly or appear too lost. Before long, she found Blackwall in the hall near the servants’ quarters, draining a wine glass and depositing it on the tray of a passing elven servant with a slight nod of thanks. Grinning, Verana greeted him, “Enjoying yourself, Warden Blackwall?”

The Warden snorted, his heraldic griffon-shaped mask glimmering in the low light, “Time of my life. The minute we leave here will be not a moment too soon.” He chuckled, “At least I haven’t had it as bad as poor Cullen, though.”

Verana’s heart skipped a beat, “Has he run into trouble?”

He shook his head, “If you count fifteen offers to dance as trouble. Nine women and six men. The poor fellow’s got a gaggle of followers that won’t leave him alone. I know he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place – afraid of saying something damaging to the Inquisition’s reputation, but if he doesn’t speak up, he won’t get any peace.” He chuckled again, “This isn’t his arena, I’m afraid. But I can’t say anything, because it’s not mine, either.”

The Inquisitor sighed, “Maybe I can help. I’ll see if I can find him.”

“Good luck,” Blackwall replied with a nod, “I’ll let you know if I run across anything.”

As Verana made her way into the side hall, she noticed Solas was relaxing in the shadows beside a statue, barely noticed by nobles and servants alike. He gave Verana a nod of greeting as she approached, raising his black fox mask, and she smiled in response, “Having fun?”

“Very much so,” Solas mirrored her smile with a devilish grin, “This atmosphere is exhilarating. I’ve experienced the like before many times in the Fade, and it is just the same in the waking world.”

“Seen anything of interest?”

“Not as of yet,” he replied. Gesturing to his outfit, he added, “As your companion and fellow guest, I do not have the luxury of going unnoticed, despite being an elf. I will say, however, that you can learn a lot by merely stopping and listening.” He glanced at a pair of whispering elves in an alcove down the hall who obviously thought they were safe enough not to be observed. “These servants are not as meek and innocent as they attempt to appear. Something is most certainly afoot, but I cannot discern the details without following them. I can only hope Raithon can uncover what we need to know by treading where our feet cannot go.”

Verana nodded, “With luck, he will have something before long. In the meantime, stay alert. There’s no telling what will happen and when.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

At that, she continued her wanderings, greeting more nobles and searching for her companions. It was after encountering Celene’s ladies-in-waiting that Verana found Dorian in one of the palace’s inner courtyards, enjoying the music of a lone bard as he sat on the edge of a fountain. He frowned at a piece of leaf on his uniform and brushed it off before straightening his black and silver mask, which was crafted to appear like a writhing serpent.

“Oh, there you are,” he said as he noticed Verana nearing, “Nobles not keeping you too distracted, I hope?”

“Not if I can help it,” she replied, glancing around and leaning close to ask, “They’re not bothering you, are they?”

He snorted, “Not at all. In fact, I think they’re more content to ignore me than to confront me directly.”

It was at that moment that Iron Bull approached and gestured for them to follow him to the portico. Once in the shadows, he took off his burgundy dragon mask and spoke in hushed tones, “I already passed this to Red and Cullen, but I figure you should know, too. Someone’s been systematically picking off the servants behind the scenes. There’s blood everywhere. Raithon’s scrambling to get to the bottom of it…he’s got some leads, it’s just a matter of having enough time to follow them.”

“And the nobles know nothing of this?” Verana asked.

“No,” Bull replied, “Half of them are already drunk and the other half are on their way there.”

“Not only that,” Dorian added, “But I doubt they care in the least what goes on in the servants’ quarters. It is an easy way to cause trouble right under the noses of the court…by enacting it in a place they will never deign to look.”

“It gets any bloodier though,” Bull continued, “and someone’s bound to notice. Cullen’s working more of his honor guard in, but he keeps getting tied up with the nobles.”

“Where is he?” Verana asked.

“Ballroom,” Bull answered, “Might want to head his way and see if you can’t give him a break.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she turned and headed back for the gallery, purpose in her steps, her skirt swishing as it grazed over the flagstones. She knew they needed to humor the court for appearance’s sake, but only to a certain point; Cullen could not afford to be distracted for long…

Ser Barris and his small cabal of Templars stayed together near the ballroom doors, talking quietly amongst themselves; uniformed as they were, with plain silver masks, most of the guests would not be able to guess their professions…merely assuming them to be more guests of the Inquisition’s higher-ups. In truth, Cullen had specifically requested their presence in case wild magic or demons were involved in the plot against the Empress. Then, and only then, would their talents be revealed.

“Lady Inquisitor,” Barris bowed to Verana as she approached him, “How goes the evening?”

“Well enough so far. The scouts have reported…interesting information, but nothing solid in regards to the plot, yet.”

He nodded in understanding, adding in a lowered voice, “I cannot tell if there are spells being employed somewhere in these walls, or if there are merely apostates hidden amongst the guests, but there is something magical afoot here, I can feel it.” His sharp green eyes nearly glowed in the low light, “Be careful, my lady.”

“I will. And if the scouts report magic or demons, you will be the first to know.”

“We will be ready.”

As Verana walked away, resuming her search for the commander, she mulled over the Templar’s words. She had no doubt that Barris’s spoke the truth. No one, especially the surviving Templars, wanted anything like Therinfal Redoubt to occur again.

At last, she finally spotted Cullen backed up against the outer wall of the ballroom, near a high arched window, with a half-circle of gabbing nobles around him. She could tell just from his posture that he was becoming irritated with the attention; his arms were crossed atop his chest, and he stood rigidly. She could not hear much of the conversation yet, but she had no doubt it was something decidedly shallow and ultimately of no interest to the commander…

That was when one of the male nobles sneakily sidled beside Cullen when he turned to address a lady to his right and grabbed the commander’s rear. Cullen whirled back around with both surprise and fury flashing in his amber eyes, and half the nobles took an involuntary step backwards. The one who had done the grabbing, however, seemed unintimidated.

At this point, Verana could more clearly hear their talk, and she distinctly picked out Cullen’s voice asking incredulously, “Did you just…touch my bottom?”

The noble in question shrugged, answering simply, “I am a weak man.”

Verana had to fight to keep from laughing aloud at the same time her cheeks burned. The poor man was utterly miserable, as she suspected he would be, not to mention completely distracted from the task at hand by these eager gossips. She felt sorry for him, was amused by his situation, and also felt…decidedly defensive of him.

It was then she decided to break up this little group before things got out of hand. Clearing her throat, she schooled her expression, strode forth with confidence in her steps and said rather loudly, “I need to speak with my Commander, now. If you will excuse us.”

Cullen did not need any encouragement. Pushing past the other nobles without so much as an apology, he followed Verana down the corridor and towards the ballroom doors. Glancing back over her shoulder, she asked, “Where did you get your audience?”

“I have no idea,” he replied, “But I’m glad you managed to give me an excuse to leave them. My job would be so much easier if people would _stop talking to me_.” There was a stretch of silence before he hastily added, “Er, not you, of course, Inquisitor.”

She grinned, “I understand. Bull tells me you’re…?”

“Yes, and it is going as planned,” he affirmed, not needing her to elaborate. “We’re ready and awaiting your signal, if needed.”

“Good,” she led him through the ballroom doors, “You might want to stay here in the vestibule with Cassandra until the dance. She’s managed to keep most of the guests at bay.”

Cullen nodded and sighed, “That sounds like a wise course of action, at this point. What will you do?”

“Keep talking to half-drunk lords and ladies until something happens, I suppose.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Between those she had addressed after their introduction and those she had encountered since rescuing Cullen, Verana lost count of how many nobles she had spoken to that evening. So many of them were clamoring for stories; tired of rumors, they wanted to hear accounts of her feats directly from her lips. She recounted the attack on Haven at least half a dozen times, and she described her adventures at Therinfal Redoubt and Adamant Fortress twice as much. With every iteration, her audience was rapt. She kept the stories as factual as possible, but she also tried to appeal to their desire for drama by sparing no detail.

At last, she finally found an opportunity to extricate herself from the nobles’ stifling attentions, and she slipped back into the side hall for some fresh air near the inner courtyard doors.

“There you are!”

Verana turned and saw Leliana moving quickly towards her from across the gallery. Taking Verana to the side, Leliana leaned close and whispered: “Raithon has been gathering much information over the course of the evening…we’ve already learned that Briala is attempting to gain the upper hand in the Game by framing Gaspard and Celene’s agents, but there’s someone else at work, here, too. We just need to find out who.”

At that moment, Cullen appeared at her elbow, speaking in a hushed tone that caused her to shiver, “I’ve just received word from the Iron Bull and Dorian…there are Venatori here.”

“And Venatori means Corypheus,” Josephine added quietly with eyes wide, coming up from behind Leliana. “Trying to anticipate the timing of the attack is difficult, but there _will_ be one, of that I have no doubt. Something tells me it might be during Celene’s speech.”

“Isn’t that after the dance?” Leliana asked.

Josephine nodded, “I just confirmed our request with the musicians and reviewed the schedule with the herald. There will be a bell soon that will call everyone to the ballroom. You two,” she glanced between Verana and Cullen, “Will have the honor of dancing first, to open the evening, so to speak. There will be a dance or two after that, more informal in nature, and then Celene is to deliver a speech to her people.”

“So after our dance,” Cullen looked pointedly at Verana, “we won’t have much time. I hope Raithon can work quickly and find out who is to deliver the blow so we can apprehend them before it’s too late.”

“We’re counting on you two to hold the attention of the court long enough for Raithon to complete the most hazardous parts of his investigation,” Leliana added, “even just a few more seconds of applause could be critical to him remaining undiscovered.”

“Which means,” Josephine smirked, “A performance worthy of a standing ovation.”

Cullen heaved a heavy sigh, “As if we didn’t have enough pressure already.”

Verana found herself reaching for his hand, and she gave it a gentle squeeze of reassurance, “We’ll be fine.”

Suddenly, the peal of the palace bell rang out, echoing around the gardens and courtyards and reaching their ears through the open gallery doors. A chorus of murmuring rippled through the guests, and Josephine grasped both Verana and Cullen’s shoulders, “That’s it. Better hurry to the ballroom. The herald will announce you. Go quickly…and Andraste watch over you.”

Leliana offered Verana an encouraging smile as Cullen presented his arm. She took it, giving the spymaster a small nod back and then allowed the commander to guide her quickly towards the ballroom doors. It was then that she seemed to notice the outside sounds of the world fading, becoming more muted. All she knew was the rhythmic _click-click-click_ of her heels against the tile, matching Cullen’s heavier booted steps in time. He seemed to sense something was wrong, and he slid his hand over hers, where she grasped his arm a little tighter, “Are you all right, Inquisitor?”

She swallowed, feeling her heart pound in her throat – from nervousness, his touch, or both, she did not know. Looking down at the swirling skirt of her dress as she walked, she replied, “Yes. I’m just…worried. About everything.”

As they neared the doors, he leaned closer and gave her hand a pat, “For good or for ill, we’ll get through this. Together.”

At that moment, the herald stepped up to them and bowed, “Ah, you are here! Excellent. Let me make sure everyone is gathered before I formally introduce you.” He then nodded to the Chevaliers on either side of the doors, who would open them at the appropriate cue, before slipping through to address the audience.

After a few moments, the herald’s muffled voice could be heard ringing throughout the ballroom, the side halls unnervingly quiet as the noise of all the guests was concentrated in the chamber ahead of them.

_“My beloved Empress Celene! Lords and ladies of Orlais! We are gathered now this evening to enjoy dancing and music in celebration of this historic day, one that will be remembered for generations! It is my pleasure to announce that, in honor of this occasion, the Inquisition will be offering a performance for your delight! Without further ado…”_

The Chevaliers smartly opened the doors, revealing the ballroom beyond with its audience packed into the galleries along the walls.

“May I present to you…Lady Verana-Kathryn Trevelyan, Knight-Enchantress, Inquisitor and Herald of Andraste, accompanied by Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath, Commander of the Inquisition’s military forces and former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall!”

Muffled gasps could be heard erupting throughout the crowd as the two stepped onto the ballroom floor, Cullen leading Verana by lifted hand, both of them striding forth with confident and elegant steps, as Josephine had taught them. The Inquisitor wondered if the ambassador was watching, and she hoped that they would not disappoint her…especially after all this. She also prayed that the Maker would watch over Leliana’s agents and give them the speed to complete their mission during this distraction.

Verana’s heels clicked sharply on the polished floor, which shone as brightly as a mirror, nearly blinding where it reflected the light of the sconces and chandeliers. She allowed her eyes to sweep the crowd as the two of them assumed positions across from each other, and she caught the gaze of Grand Duke Gaspard amongst them…along with the wine-red sashes all in a row that marked the men of the Inquisition, the ladies sitting just behind them. Verana allowed her lips to part in a grin as she dipped her head to the crowd and to the Empress where she sat in her box, Cullen bowing likewise across from her. Celene inclined her head in acknowledgment with a welcoming smile and gestured for them to begin.

Cullen then turned to Verana and gave his self-assured bow of greeting, to which she answered in a graceful curtsey. Before they even straightened themselves, Verana could hear the whispers starting, but they were quickly drowned out by the droning hum of the cellos as the conductor readied his musicians. She took a breath and strode towards Cullen – as he did towards her – and they easily slipped into their positions as the music’s introductory notes played. Then, as Verana gently squeezed Cullen’s hand, it began.

Following the swells of the music, he swept her across the ballroom with ease and grace, guiding her without seemingly taking his eyes off of her face. Determined to win this night with this dance alone, Verana shut out all else, concentrating only on the steps and the tempo of the music.

_Back, forth, apart, together, turn, turn, spin apart, together…_

The movements came almost automatically, and to her great surprise, easier in their current clothing. With every spin, her skirt swirled and sparkled, and the silver accents of Cullen’s uniform caught the light with each step. Yet these things she barely noticed, for the magnetic pull of his amber eyes kept returning her gaze to them, and she saw that familiar fire in them that was at once frightening and delightful…

\-------------------------------------------------------

Josephine held her breath, watching Verana and Cullen dance like she’d never seen before. But what caught her attention even more was the ladies’ commentary that hummed around her.

“Those moves…some of them look vaguely Antivan.”

“Isn’t the Inquisitor from Ostwick? The Free Marches? And the dashing Commander is Ferelden, yes? How could they know an Antivan dance?”

“Perhaps the Fereldens and Marchers are more cultured than we thought.”

“Perhaps.”

“I didn’t know they taught Templars to dance, either.”

“There are a great many things you don’t know, sister.”

“If they all look like that, sign _me_ up for the Order.”

“Oh, sister, _hush!_ ”

\-------------------------------------------------------

An extended pause in the music hinted at the change in tempo ahead, and Verana knew that their more complicated maneuvers were about to start. Cullen’s expression did not change as they sped up, following a different pattern that was distinctly more Antivan than the last, but she could have sworn his lips curled into a half-snarl beneath his half-mask, his jaw tightening with resolve.

_Turn, spin, walk with hands clasped…shoulder to shoulder, shoulder to shoulder, step, turn, turn, spin…_

Verana’s own lips pressed together, her heart quickening as the music rose, Cullen spinning her with ease but his grip firmer in anticipation of each subsequent move. They were nearing the finish now, just a few more steps…

He spun her one last time, Verana whirling on her heel, and then back she went on the final note, held by her hand and waist, her spine arching backwards, head tilted back so far that her hair brushed the floor. Her leg firmly curled about Cullen’s as he bent over her, but was still mostly concealed by the waterfall of silk about her knee and ankle – the final move of Josephine’s invention.

A collective gasp replaced the music, followed immediately by resounding applause, fingers striking palms in approval.

“The Commander of the Inquisition and the Lady Inquisitor!” the herald called again.

The applause increased in volume, the audience slowly rising in a standing ovation, and Cullen pulled her upright, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, “You did it.”

“We did it,” she corrected, slightly breathless, “You as much as I. Perhaps more so you.”

They acknowledged the Empress with bow and curtsy again. The crowd kept applauding, even as they left the ballroom, and Verana knew that each second the guests remained chattering and clapping was one more for Raithon. Cullen’s face turned solemn once again as he gently pushed her through the ballroom doors, “We need to find Josephine.”

The sound of heels came from their left, and as they passed the Chevaliers, the doors closing behind them, Leliana and Josephine both appeared around the corner, “Inquisitor! Come quickly!”

Verana picked up her skirts and jogged forth with Cullen, following the two women around the corner to see Raithon bent over at the waist, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His black uniform, with its wine-red sash, was covered in dust and leaves, and blood seeped from his swollen and split lip. In his haste to put his uniform back on, he had forgotten his mask. His copper hair was disheveled, his tanned skin covered with a sheen of sweat, and his scarlet eyes were dark with adrenaline.

“Gaspard’s sister,” he panted, “Grand Duchess Florianne. She’s working with the Venatori…with Corypheus. She plans on offing Celene and blaming it on Gaspard, and she’s waiting for the speech to do it. This entire event is a trap for both her brother and her cousin. Meanwhile, Briala has been attempting to outmaneuver both the Grand Duke and the Empress, and she could prove to be problematic to Celene…if we can save her. Make no mistake – this is about the Game and Florianne’s place in it. She is determined to win by any means necessary.”

“There’s enough incriminating evidence gathered by my agents to pressure all three of Orlais’s leaders into cooperating once we take care of Florianne,” Leliana added, “The only question is, how do we expose Florianne so we can legitimately apprehend her without the objection of the court?”

“Waiting until the moment of is a little risky,” Josephine murmured.

“If we want Celene to live, that is,” Leliana replied, a harsh glint in her blue eyes.

“Leliana!” Josephine exclaimed, realizing what the spymistress was suggesting, “Do you know what you’re saying?”

Leliana turned to Verana, “Nothing says that Celene must survive this night…only that Orlais not remain leaderless. Perhaps the best way for the court to personally witness the atrocities of Corypheus and to rally them to our cause…”

“…is to let them see Celene fall,” Cullen finished, his tone firm, “She’s right. At this point, I think Gaspard would make just as good a leader for Orlais as Celene…perhaps even a better one, given the nature of the threat.”

“No,” Verana replied, “There doesn’t have to be any more bloodshed tonight. We just have to beat Florianne at the Game.”

“But,” Josephine interjected, “How? They will never believe the word of an elf…” She glanced at Raithon warily.

As the three advisors watched Verana closely, they could see the gears turning behind her violet eyes. At last, she replied simply, “They will believe me.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

Once armed with the treasure-trove of information that Raithon and Leliana passed along to her, Verana moved to confront Florianne directly. It was her word against the Duchess’s, and Verana prayed to the Maker that the Orlesians would believe her over the Empress’s cousin. That the Empress herself would believe her.

As Florianne ascended the ballroom stairs to where the Empress waited to deliver her speech, Verana hurried across the floor, marching straight for her.

“There is one more spectacle for the court to witness, I do believe,” she said loudly, smiling broadly for the court, as if this was all planned.

“Inquisitor?” Florianne turned around, curiosity – and perhaps a hint of fear – behind her mask.

“The eyes of all the nobles of the realm are fixed upon us, Your Grace. Remember to smile. This is your party after all. You wouldn’t want them to think you’d lost control…” Verana taunted, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips as she drew level with the Grand Duchess.

Florianne began to back up slowly, “Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Lady Inquisitor?”

Verana paused, cocked her head, and then began.

“The Inquisition’s eyes and ears are everywhere Florianne…you didn’t think I wouldn’t find out about your great scheme, did you? You tried to have my agents disposed of in the garden when you discovered that they overheard your plans. But you didn’t bank on them miraculously surviving to tell the tale. To tell _me_. That you were waiting for ‘just the right moment to strike’,” she emphasized, loud enough for the sound to echo across the ballroom. Not waiting for a rebuttal while a gasp rippled through the court, she continued, “You had to ‘get me out of the way’, you said. The Inquisition’s presence was an ‘unexpected stumbling block’, but it would not stop you from ‘taking the Empire for Corypheus.’”

She paced around Florianne, who seemed frozen to the spot, “It’s so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a Council emissary.”

More gasps. It was working. Celene’s expression above them was unreadable.

“It was an ambitious plan,” Verana prodded, “Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds…all your enemies under one roof.”

Florianne continued backing up, nearly tripping on the hem of her gown, though she attempted to put on a disarming smile, “This is all quite amusing…but…you don’t think anyone will believe your wild stories…?”

“That will be for a judge to decide, cousin,” the Empress suddenly spoke, her tone firm.

Florianne looked desperate. Glancing in the direction of her brother, she implored, “Gaspard! You cannot believe this…you know I would never…” But Briala and Gaspard, both of whom stood nearby, turned their backs on Florianne in disappointment and did not answer her. Chevaliers approached to apprehend the Grand Duchess at Celene’s order, and Verana stepped back to let them near.

“You’ve lost the Game, Your Grace. You lost a long time ago. You were just the last to find out.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

By the end of the hour, Florianne was imprisoned, and the three leaders of Orlais – Empress Celene, Grand Duke Gaspard, and the elven ambassador Briala – all agreed to a truce for the sake of the Empire. With the exception of Briala, for obvious political reasons, they made a public speech that rallied the Orlesian nobility to their cause, pleading the public to be vigilant and to prepare for war against Corypheus. It was then that Raithon passed word of a Fade rift that had been opened in the gardens, and the Inquisitor’s inner circle kept the demon horde at bay whilst Verana herself worked her magic on the tear in the Veil, securing the Winter Palace and saving the lives of many.

After offering the Inquisition’s support to Orlais, establishing a formal alliance with the Empire, and recruiting Celene’s occult advisor, Morrigan, Verana watched as things slowly began to return to normal in Halamshiral. The musicians struck up their tunes again, the guests went back to mingling and gossiping, and if she had not been witness to recent events herself, she would have never thought the plot to overthrow the Empress had ever occurred. Tired, her head spinning, and in need of fresh air, Verana found herself wandering to the balcony that overlooked the gardens and its splendid fountain. The position of the moons told her it was close to midnight, and yet, somehow, the evening felt young. Sighing, she took off her mask and set it aside, running her hands through her hair to loosen it.

Searching high and low for her, Cullen finally found the Inquisitor leaning against the balcony railing, staring off into the clear night sky. Carefully, so as not to startle her, he stepped out past the gallery doors and cleared his throat. She turned, slightly surprised to hear someone behind her, but smiled warmly when she saw him, her head cocking curiously when she noticed the two glasses of champagne in his gloved hands. He smirked in response and extended one to her, “I thought you might be in need of refreshment after all that’s transpired.”

She took the glass with a gracious nod, “Yes, thank you.” She then tilted it in the direction of his and asked, “To our success?”

Chuckling, he clinked his glass with hers, “To our success, Inquisitor.”

They both drank to the toast and then looked out over the gardens, but Cullen couldn’t help but keep glancing at her Anchor hand. He had never seen her actually close a Fade rift before; even though he’d seen the Breach dissolve in the sky back at Haven, he had not witnessed her actually seal a tear in the Veil. It made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, the feeling, the very _smell_ of the atmosphere reminding him of the fall of the Circle in Ferelden. It brought back memories he had fought hard over the years to suppress…memories that he did not like connecting with her.

“Does it hurt?” he found himself asking suddenly, taking off his own mask and laying it beside hers.

She set her empty glass on the banister and glanced sideways at him, “Pardon?”

He set his own down too and gestured to her hand, “The Anchor, I mean.”

Her brow furrowed as she looked down at her left hand and flexed her fingers, “No, not exactly. It did at first…an excruciating burning sensation with every expansion of the Breach. Now, though, it almost feels numb when it connects with a rift. Like dancing electricity. Why, does it look like it hurts?”

“A bit,” he replied, “But I am glad to hear that it causes you no pain.”

Verana smiled and felt her cheeks flush, his concern touching her. As she leaned against the railing and took a deep breath of the cool night air, she gave a small chuckle, “You know, if it weren’t for playing the Game, trying to foil Corypheus, and attempting to forge an important alliance for the Inquisition, this would almost be an evening out of a fairytale.”

He smiled wryly, “Is there anything that would make it become one, do you think?”

As the distant strains of music floated through the doors and into the night air, Verana sheepishly glanced down at her toes, noting the sore throbbing of her feet as all the activity in heeled shoes began to catch up to her, “Well, I _did_ rather enjoy dancing with you, tonight.”

Suddenly, she saw his black-clad form move closer out of the corner of her eye, and he held his arms out to her, “Well, let us make this evening end on a higher note, shall we, my lady?”

With the way the mischief glittered in his eyes, she couldn’t help but grin foolishly at this sweet gesture, and she wearily pushed off from the banister, sidling into his arms, “As you wish, Commander.”

At that he began to lead her smoothly around the balcony, following the slow and calming tempo of the music; no specific moves, just easy turning and swaying. She briefly wondered what the nobles would say if they happened to spy the pair, as this was most certainly _not_ intended for the court’s discerning eyes. Yet, despite the self-consciousness that settled over her, she felt herself being lulled by the gentle dancing, and she carefully leaned in to rest her forehead on his shoulder. After a few moments, he gradually stopped dancing and rested his chin atop her head, slipping both arms about her waist. Verana interpreted this as a move of support and reassurance, and though this _sentiment_ did not surprise her in the least, she was caught a bit off-guard by the boldness of the gesture itself.

He stepped away from the stream of golden light in the doorway, guiding her to the shadowed side of the balcony where a waterfall of ivy cascaded over the palace wall. It was there, out of the view of the court in the gallery, that Verana looped her arms around his neck and hugged him, embracing him tightly out of both thanks and in answer to his own gesture of comfort. When he realized what she was doing, he seemed a bit stunned, as his hold around her waist loosened abruptly. Before he could say anything, however, she stood on her tiptoes to make sure he could hear her clearly, whispering, “I am so proud of you, Cullen. You did so well, tonight, doing something I _know_ you didn’t want to do. But you gave it your all…and as much as people would like to say that I saved this night with the rift and the alliance and all… _you_ made it possible. You helped us buy the time Raithon needed to complete the investigation, and without you, this all might have all fallen apart. So even if no one else does it, I want you to know that I appreciate what you’ve done and what all you went through to get us here... _thank you_.”

As she leaned back to look him in the eyes, she saw that familiar smirk pulling at his lips again, and he replied, “Well…if I may say so, my lady…having the privilege of dancing with you made it all worthwhile.”

Verana felt a blush rise unbidden to her cheeks at his reply, and she grinned widely. But then, a thought rose to her mind that she could not leave unvoiced, and she answered softly, “Even when I’m…you know…a mage?”

His expression melted into one of solemnity, and he answered quietly, “Yes, even so.”

There was a long pause, and Verana wondered if she had crossed a line. As he remained silent, she began to fear that she had offended him somehow. Then, at last, he took a breath and held it, not meeting her eyes as he then spoke again in a soft, almost vulnerable tone.

“Verana, I…” he trailed, glancing away and swallowing heavily as he seemed to think intensely about his next words, “I want you to know that I…you aren’t _just_ mage, to me. You never were ‘just’ a mage.”

His gaze returned to hers, and she felt herself frozen in place. His words were slow to sink in; she repeated them over and over in her mind, unsure if she had heard him right – certain her hopeful ears had merely interpreted them wrong. She was more than a mage to him? Truly? The very thing that defined her for most people did not define her for him? She was still rooted to the spot as he lifted a gloved hand to her face, tucking a lock of raven hair behind her ear, and she felt the smooth leather brush her cheek. Her eyes were riveted to his as he continued softly, “It wasn’t until the attack on Haven that my mind realized it, but I know that my heart felt it much earlier. When Corypheus and the Venatori descended on the town, I…I was so afraid of losing you. When you stayed behind to buy us time I was _sure_ that I had lost you then, and I…Maker, I didn’t know what to do with myself until we found you in the snow and…”

He took her gloved hand and brushed a thumb across her knuckles, “Verana, I am not proud of the man I used to be…a man who would likely have never cared for a mage. The Circle, the Order…I was so angry. So bitter. Not that long ago, I _would_ have seen you as a mage and nothing else. But now… _now_ …” he shook his head, squeezing her hand gently and staring deeply into her eyes, as if the intensity of his own would convey his message more clearly. “The man I have become _does_ care for you…very deeply. You don’t know how much I have tried to tell myself that what I have been feeling is folly. That you are the Inquisitor, that we are at war, that neither time nor circumstance would allow me to be anything more to you than your Commander…but I _want_ to be.” His voice wavered as he glanced away again, “I can only hope that you believe me.”

Her eyes were wide as she never took her gaze from him. She felt her mouth open slightly as she absorbed his confession, and for the longest time, she had no idea what to say. She was completely dumbfounded, and no matter how much her heart, pained by his distress, urged her to comfort and reassure him, all words were lost before they ever reached her lips. Finally, though, after what seemed like an eternity, she reached up with her other hand and cupped his cheek, turning his face back towards her. “I believe you, Cullen,” she answered at last, smiling gently and letting her fingers track down his face and jaw as she added, “I don’t know the man you were…so I cannot say anything about him. But I _do_ know that this man, _this_ Cullen, stole my heart in Haven and has kept it ever since.”

His amber eyes lit up as though kindled by flame, but before he could say anything else, she continued, “I think about you so much. I cannot push you from my mind. And I don’t want to. I don’t care if I’m the Inquisitor, or if we’re at war,” her voice was firm, “You _are_ more than my Commander to me.”

There were a few moments of silence – moments that Verana felt lasted an eternity as they seemed to search each other’s eyes for truth…for confirmation. But then he took her face in both hands and leaned in, lips softly brushing hers in a tentative caress. It was all the invitation she needed to tighten her hold around his neck and pull him closer, answering with her own passionate kiss. His arms slowly wrapped around her shoulders, cocooning her in soft and warm velvet. Her exhausted body surrendered to his strength, allowing him to hold her tightly as he pulled her deeper into the shadows against the palace wall. Enraptured by his gentle kisses, she cared not if anyone spotted them, cradling the back of his head and neck…

At last, he pulled away from her gently and smiled that heart-melting smile. “So,” his voice was a husky growl, and his eyes glittered in the dark, “About that fairytale evening…?”

She smiled a languid, contented smile as she looked up at him, “It could not have been more perfect.”


End file.
